“Richie? Thank God!”
No one had ever thanked anyone for Lucky. Years disappeared, his sister’s voice as familiar as if they’d talked yesterday. Tears sprang to his eyes unbidden. Throughout the bad years, she’d been his lifeline. The only one who never gave up on him.
He schooled the tremble out of his voice. “What’s wrong?”
She’d never sugar-coated the truth. “I really hate to call with bad news like this, especially on your birthday, but it’s Dad.”
An invisible fist slammed Lucky’s gut. If he hadn’t been sitting, his suddenly weak knees would have dumped him on his ass. “What about him?”
“You know he’s been on the list for a liver transplant for a while now, right?”
“Yeah.”
The following pause didn’t bode well. “He’s running out of time.”
Well, damn. Lucky might not have spoken to his folks since his arrest, and they might believe him dead, but at the end of the day, they were still his parents. They’d always been there before, and he’d figured they always would be. “Is there anything can be done? Doesn’t someone have to die and give him their liver?” Most of the people Lucky’d seen die over the years hadn’t had enough liver left to donate.
“Not necessarily. We’re hoping to match him with a living donor. They can give part of their liver.”
“Then we gotta find a donor. Um… how do we go about finding one?” As kids, Charlotte always dreamed of nursing, while Lucky dreamed of driving trucks. Lucky, find a usable organ? No chance in hell. Know how to wreck one with booze and drugs? Oh, yeah buddy.
“It’s best if they can find a family member. They’re more likely to match. But Uncle Ben’s in too bad of health, and he’s the only one of Dad’s brothers still alive.”
“Uncle Ned passed? When?”
“Ten or eleven years ago.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“You didn’t like him much, as I recall.”
Lucky liked Uncle Ned fine until he’d started preaching fire and brimstone and gays going to Hell. “What about Day?”
“Daytona’s going through rehab again, Dallas’s diabetes means he wouldn’t work, and I’m not a match.”
Which left two sons. “Bristol?”
Charlotte snorted, the sound bringing back memories of a teenaged version of her. “He says it’s in God’s hands, and if God wants Dad to live, then he will.”
How had their sweet mother given birth to such a useless shithead as Bristol? “That leaves me.”
Her sigh wafted over the phone. “That leaves you.”
Lucky drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I can’t even give blood ‘cause I’m gay. What makes you think they’ll let me donate body parts?” If such a thing were even possible. But Lucky’s knowledge of medical stuff ended where the drugs began. Still, squirming started in his guts.
His sister dropped her voice to a mere whisper. “I wouldn’t ask if you weren’t our last chance—his last chance.”
Double damn. “If the old man knew it came from me, do you reckon he’d even take it?” Not likely. Stubborn-assed Lucklighters.
“He’ll take it.”
“You sound awfully sure.”
“I am.”
Lucky jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, then he leaned back into Bo’s embrace. Bo didn’t say a word, merely held on tight, exactly what Lucky needed. As much as he’d love to say he’d do anything to save his old man, he wasn’t alone anymore. He’d have to talk things over with his partner.
Using Bo for an anchor, Lucky replied. “When do you need an answer?”
